


Unintentionally Notorious

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, College | University Student Castiel (Supernatural), Gang Member Dean Winchester, Gangs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, Meet-Weird, Minor Character Death, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: Dean Winchester has had better weeks.After getting kicked out of his father's gang, becoming homeless, and being kidnapped by members of a rival gang, Dean thinks this is the end of the road for him--until he's accidentally re-kidnapped by Cas Milton, an unsuspecting college student who knows nothing of gangs or violence.As Dean and Cas become friends, Dean starts to believe that maybe he really can start a new life, outside of the violence he grew up in. But things are never that simple, and the gang doesn't stay away for long...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Boy do I have a lot of author's notes for this bad boy! I wrote this in about two days, because the mood seized me and wouldn't let go. With another writer, this could probably be a 50k slowburn, but with me, it's not. Oh well :)
> 
> I should also mention that 1) Adam is treated like a Winchester here and 2) I scrambled some ages a little bit, so if you notice that the age differences between Adam, Sam, and Dean are different from canon, that was purposeful.
> 
> Anyways, I hope y'all have as much fun reading this as I had writing it! 
> 
> As always, props go to the Profound Bond discord server. If you're 18+, [join us!](https://discord.gg/profoundbond) we're good fun :)
> 
> And if you like this, I post more stuff here sometimes and also on [my tumblr](https://one-more-offbeat-anthem.tumblr.com) :)

Dean kicked the interior of the trunk as hard as he could, once, twice, three times. It was pitch black in here, and the last thing he remembered was being tied up and shoved in. He heard a voice from outside of the trunk, one he didn’t recognize. It was deep and gravelly, but also sounded nervous.

“Whoever’s in there, please don’t shoot me. Do you have a gun?” the voice said, “ _ I  _ don’t have a gun. So you don’t have to be scared of me, I just--”

And then the trunk opened, and Dean was staring into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and then the man attached to those blue eyes screamed. 

“Sorry,” the guy said after a second, clearing his throat, “Part of me didn’t expect there to really be a person--I’m so sorry. Let me get that.” He reached out and pulled the tape off of Dean’s mouth. “How’d you get here?”

“I was kidnapped,” Dean said, holding up his duct-taped-together wrists. “How’d you get here?”

“Well, we’re at my apartment,” the guy replied. “I kinda...stole this car.” He looked sheepish as he unbound Dean’s hands. “Sorry about the accidental re-kidnapping. My name’s Cas. Cas Milton.” Cas put out his hand, as if to shake.

Dean shook. “Dean Winchester.”

“Very cool last name,” Cas said. “I have spaghetti, if you want some. Or I can take you somewhere? Is there anyone you want to call? You can use my phone--”

“No,” Dean cut him off, “No one. As long as I’m not with the guys that kidnapped me, I’m good.” 

“Do you have family?” Cas raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s complicated. But I’ll take you up on the spaghetti.”

“Okay!” Cas hefted up his backpack, “Let’s go.”

Dean wasn’t sure what he expected the friendly stranger’s apartment to look like, but it was tiny, filled with books. A sagging blue couch covered in pillows and a yellow crocheted blanket sat in front of a coffee table covered in mugs with tea bags and more books. Apparently this guy didn’t have a television, but he also sucked at being clean. 

It was better than Dean’s digs, which had been, for the past two weeks since he’d been kicked out of his house via being excommunicated from his family, the backseat of his car. 

The kitchen, which Dean followed Cas into, however, was much cleaner. “Sorry,” Cas said, dropping his backpack next to the island, “I don’t get many visitors, or spend a ton of time here.” He pulled a tupperware out of the fridge, and Dean followed him with his eyes. The brilliant blue eyes were still the most striking thing about the other man, but Cas also had a shock of dark hair and a strong jawline. He was built somewhere in between skinny and strong, and looked a little bit like he’d just been juiced up with electricity somehow.

“What do you do?” Dean asked.

“I’m a college student,” Cas replied, now putting spaghetti on two plates. “English. Night classes only, though, because college is expensive so I have a full-time job.” Cas glanced up at him. “At the Gas ‘n Sip. On the corner, by the post office?”

Dean nodded. Suddenly, the tiny apartment and Cas’s outfit of worn jeans, beat-up sneakers, and a hoodie made sense. 

“Already have an associate’s degree,” Cas continued, now putting the plates in the microwave and pushing the button to turn the turntable off, “But my parents weren’t thrilled I chose community college, so I’ve been...how do you say, ‘cut off.’” He actually did the air quotes. “What about you?” Cas asked. “What do you do?”

“Uh…” Dean looked around the kitchen, noticing the dish towels with bees hanging off of them on the stove-- _ weird but cute _ \--and wondered if this guy would freak out if he knew that Dean was...well, himself. 

Being the oldest son of the leader of one of the two big gangs in town wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. 

Especially when you’d just been excommunicated and then kidnapped by members of the rival gang.

“I work--worked--for the family business,” Dean said, “My old man’s in charge, my younger brothers--well, brother and half-brother--work for it. I just quit.” Yeah,  _ quit  _ was one way to put it.

“Like...banking?” Cas asked.

“Uh...yeah.” Well, it wasn’t a  _ total  _ lie. The gang did move money around.

“Sounds boring. I can understand leaving.” The microwave dinged, and Cas pulled the plates out, sliding one across the counter to Dean. He got them both forks and then kept talking. “My dad’s a lawyer, my mom is a...socialite?” Cas wrinkled his nose, and it was adorable.

_ Get a grip, Winchester. You don’t know this guy.  _

“Not that I’m sure that counts as a career,” Cas added. “My sister’s in college--journalism. Although I think she’s more interested in studying her social life. My brother and I are the outliers. Gabe’s a--” Cas let out a laugh, “--A bartender. At a gay bar. How cool is that?” Dean stared at Cas, who clamped a hand over his own mouth. “Unless you’re not cool with queer people--”

“No, no,” Dean assured him, “It’s fine.”  _ He  _ was cool with queer people. His dad? Not so much.

“Well,” Cas said messily around a mouth of spaghetti, “I have work at nine a.m. tomorrow, but you can sleep on the couch if you want--or you can have my bed, and I’ll take the couch, I’m not picky--”

“Dude, we  _ just  _ met. I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“Okay.” Cas suddenly looked awkward and wrong-footed, so Dean took a bite of spaghetti. “Oh, this is good.”   


“Thanks.” Cas softened. “It’s a recipe Gabe got from a coworker.” 

They finished their meal in silence, but then, as Cas was putting the dishes in the sink (“You don’t have to help, Dean! I accidentally double-kidnapped you!”), a heavy weight settled into Dean’s lap. Dean looked down and there was the orangest, grumpiest-looking cat he’d ever seen. It meowed at him.

“That’s Barney,” Cas said, without turning around. “Sophia is probably hiding under my bed.”

Dean hesitantly pet Barney, who had already made himself  _ very  _ comfortable. Dean felt vaguely like he was going insane.

After Cas plied him with homemade snickerdoodles from the grandmother in his American Literature night class and then insisted on finding sheets for the couch (apparently Cas’ only extra set of sheets were snowman patterned flannel sheets), Dean found himself staring at the cracked ceiling of Cas’ living room, surrounded by books and embroidered throw pillows. 

He had no idea where to go--his father had made it pretty damn clear that he never wanted to see Dean again, and Dean couldn’t very well call either of his brothers, since they were still stuck with John. 

But there was one person he could still talk to: Bobby Singer.

_ \------------------------------------------- _

Dean awoke the next morning to the sound of off-key singing from the direction of Cas’ kitchen. It sounded vaguely like it was meant to be an Elton John song ( _ Crocodile Rock,  _ maybe?) There was also a cat on his face. It was the same orange monster who had acquainted himself with Dean the night before--Barney.

Dean hauled himself up into a seated position. Cas’ cramped living room was actually really pretty with sunlight cast through it, and Dean turned to see Cas himself walking in and setting a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table. He was wearing a set of...skeleton patterned pajamas? 

“I didn’t know what kind you liked,” Cas said, his hair somehow even messier than it had been the night before, “So I went for a classic English Breakfast.” 

“This is…” Dean had never had tea, but he took a sip anyways. It was  _ scaldingly  _ hot, and he sputtered before getting out, “This is great, thanks.”

It wasn’t terrible.

“Did you sleep okay?” Cas asked, as if Dean was a friend he’d known for a while, or as if he regularly had strangers spend the night in his living room.

“Yep.” Dean set the tea back down, noticing that the mug had sunflowers on it, and stretched. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts that Cas swore hadn’t been worn since he was in high school and a Princeton t-shirt (“It was my dad’s,” Cas had explained) as his pajamas. 

“Well,” Cas said, “I’ve got about an hour before work, but I have to leave a little early because I have to walk, since my car is  _ toast.  _ And I don’t want to drive that car I stole anymore.”

“So that’s why you stole the car?” Dean asked. “Yours is broken?”

Cas nodded. “Transmission’s out. The mechanic said it would cost two  _ thousand  _ dollars, and I--” he gestured around the living room, “--don’t have that kind of money. The stealing was...impulsive. Maybe a bad idea.”

“Well, you did help me,” Dean offered.

“What if you’re a murderer?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “If I was a murderer, don’t you think you’d already be dead?”

“What if you wanted to play mind games?” Cas offered.

“Well, how do I know  _ you’re  _ not a murderer?” Dean asked.

“...I don’t have a gun.”

“ _ Cas.  _ You can kill people without a gun!”

“Right.” Cas looked a little sheepish. “I forgot. I don’t spend a lot of time killing people, you see. But, uh, the car. Yeah, I took it to Singer’s Auto Repair. The owner, Bobby, is  _ super  _ nice. I go there a lot, my car is…” Cas rubbed the back of his neck. “Not exactly new.”

Dean laughed a little mentally at Cas describing Bobby as  _ super nice _ . Bobby was gruff but loving, in Dean’s experience. To be fair, Dean’s experience was a bit different from Cas’--Bobby was the only guy who had managed to get out of their gang unscathed. Before things went sideways, he’d been Dean’s father’s best friend. Now, he ran the auto shop and kept his nose out of gang business. Dean envied him--it wasn’t so easy to leave when you were the boss’ son, but after one too many “altercations,” Dean was out.

“What do you drive?” Dean asked.

Cas took a sip of his tea before he replied. “1984 Pontiac Sunbird. It was Gabe’s first car--he gave it to me when he bought a new one.”

“Oh, from the 80s, nice,” Dean said, before adding, “I drive a ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

“Wait.” Cas tilted his head (once again, adorable). “I’ve seen you around town, or your car at least! I always think about how cool it is.”

“Do you think I’m cool?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “Dunno yet. Still deciding.” He drank the rest of his still-steaming tea in one gulp ( _ how?  _ Dean wondered) before adding, “I’m gonna go get ready. There’s bread in the breadbox.”

“You own a breadbox?” Dean asked.

“Duh.” Cas sighed and left the room.

Dean occupied himself with finishing his own tea and looking around the room while he...waited? for Cas. He recognized a lot of the titles of the books Cas had strewn across his living room--the  _ Isaac Asimov’s Robot City  _ series,  _ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Catch-22, The Secret Garden... _ Cas’ reading taste seemed extensive but covered a lot of the classics. 

Cas emerged a few minutes later with his hair partially flattened, wearing slightly nicer jeans than the day before, a long-sleeved, purple-and-grey striped polo shirt, and a blue vest with a nametag on it that read  _ Castiel.  _

(It figured that “Cas” was a nickname.)

In short, he looked a little ridiculous.

Cas tilted his head again at Dean’s stare. “What?”   


“I--nothing,” Dean said. “You need company to walk to work?” 

Cas shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. Let me find you a clean shirt.” 

A few minutes later, Dean had borrowed Cas’ spare toothbrush and was kitted out in his own jeans, a  _ Battlestar Galactica  _ shirt that belonged to Cas, and a truly terrifying yellow-and-red plaid flannel. 

Kidnapped folks couldn’t be choosers, he guessed. 

(Really, though, this flannel should be burned. It was worse than bad, and Dean had been kidnapped yesterday, so he knew what bad was.)

The walk to the Gas ‘n Sip didn’t take as long as Dean thought it would--partially because Cas was a weirdly fast walker and partially because Cas also talked a  _ lot.  _ First about  _ Battlestar Galactica,  _ then about early American literature, then about cats. He had come around to his brother, Gabe, who seemed to be his closest friend, by the time they got to the Gas ‘n Sip--right across the street from Singer’s Auto Repair. 

“Do you mind if I walk around?” Dean asked.

“Sure! I mean, you can do whatever you want, I guess. I’m not in charge of you or anything. But c’mere first.” Cas pushed open the door and led Dean inside the station, before going behind the counter and grabbing a pad of paper. He scribbled down something and tore the paper off the pad, handing it to Dean.

“My number,” he said, “In case you get lost or something? Just, uh, I get off at two p.m., I’d like to know if I should wait for you.”

“Okay,” Dean said, pocketing the paper and giving Cas a little salute. “I’ll see you then, probably.”   


It was time to talk to Bobby. 


	2. Chapter 2

“So let me get this straight,” Bobby said gruffly, abandoning the car he’d been working on. “You got kidnapped by some folks from Alastair’s gang, and this random guy just happened to steal the car you were in the trunk of?”

“Not a random guy,” Dean said, “You know him. Cas--Castiel Milton.”

“The Pontiac guy, uh-huh. He’s a little odd, but he’s nice enough. You couldn’t have been re-kidnapped by a nicer guy.”

“But Bobby, what do I do? How do I know that Alastair’s gang isn’t going to come after me--or him, since he stole their car?” 

Bobby shrugged. “You’re not married to this guy, Dean. You could always strike out on your own.”

Dean thought about the approximately twelve hours that he had known Cas. Sure, he wasn’t married to the guy, but Cas was nice, and he had a life that had nothing to do with violence, comeuppance, or money. While Cas was estranged from his parents and a bit of a loner, he also seemed  _ happy  _ that way, and Dean envied that. 

“I don’t feel safe,” Dean said. “I feel like...they shouldn’t have been able to jump me so easily. It seemed like they  _ knew  _ something.”

Bobby gave him a searching look. “Maybe they did. Your father doesn’t take kindly to people not doing what he wants them to. You were only a kid when I left John’s gang, but…” Bobby shrugged. “I was his best friend, sure, but you’re his own son. His eldest son, the one who was supposed to take up the helm. You were supposed to show Sammy and Adam how it’s done. And now you’re gone.” 

“Sammy could always be the next-in-line.”

Bobby’s eyes fell. “You know as well as I do that Sammy wants to go to college, not live the rest of his life as John’s lackey. I’m not sayin’ you did the wrong thing, gettin’ out. I’m sayin’ that you need to be careful, Dean. Now help me with this car.”

The five hours of Cas’ shift passed quickly, working on cars with Bobby like he did as a kid, that Dean ran across the street a couple of minutes after two to meet back up with Cas.

“You were at the auto shop,” Cas said curiously as he shucked off his vest, tucking his nametag into his jeans pocket. 

“Yeah, Bobby’s an...old friend,” Dean said. Cas seemed to be blissfully unaware of gangs or why some people might kidnap others, and Dean hoped to keep it that way. 

“Oh, cool!"

“See anything interesting at work today?” Dean asked. He wasn’t really sure...what this arrangement was, but he figured he should ask Cas, play nice. 

“Well, there’s the Coffee Stirrer Man--have I told you about him? Of course I haven’t, we only met yesterday. But he always stirs his coffee with--” And Cas launched into a long-winded explanation of the exploits of Coffee Stirrer Man that eventually segued into what kind of coffee creamer at the Gas ‘n Sip was the best, and then into whether drinking coffee in the afternoon was a good idea. 

“I have class at six p.m.,” Cas said, once they were in his apartment again, “And I need to work on some homework.”

“I won’t bother you,” Dean said, fully intending to take a nap. 

(Instead, he listened to Cas talk about Percy Bysshe Shelley for four hours, and it was honestly a pretty good time.)

_ \------------------------------------------- _

That weekend, Cas baked them a cake, just because he felt like it, and Dean was once again struck by why, exactly, he couldn’t tell this guy what the family business really was. Instead of talking, Cas put on some music. It wasn’t quite the classic rock that Dean would choose (Cas definitely needed to be introduced to Led Zeppelin, pronto), but it was nice. 

“It’s the  _ Waltz of the Flowers, _ ” Cas explained to Dean’s expression, “From the  _ Nutcracker _ . My sister did ballet when she was younger.”

“Nice,” Dean said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say-- _ my brothers and I spent our childhoods learning how to shoot a gun and ten ways to knock someone unconscious _ , maybe? 

Well,  _ his  _ childhood. Sammy and Adam were still kids. 

Dean watched as Cas mixed cake batter--it was going to be a caramel cake, according to Cas--and swayed slightly to the music. It was an oddly peaceful, idyllic scene, the likes of which Dean wasn’t often privy to. 

He liked it. 

Once the song had changed-- _ This is the Pas de Deux,  _ Cas told him--and the cake was in the oven, Cas wiped his hands on a towel and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping around on it before turning the screen to show Dean something.

“That’s my sister, Anna,” Cas said, “And the other guy with us is Gabe.”

“I can see the family resemblance,” Dean said. “I’ve got two brothers.”

“What are their names?” 

“Sammy--well, his name is Sam, but I call him Sammy, and Adam. I’m the oldest.”

Cas gave him a little smile. “I’m the middle child.”

“Worse things to be. Sammy’s pretty okay at it.” 

The rest of their evening went similarly--trading stories about their families (although Dean concealed what, exactly, his family did) and nearly anything Cas came up to talk about-- _ Star Wars,  _ Charles Bukowski poetry, how he’d gotten Barney (who had taken a real liking to Dean), and then they just sat in the kitchen in comfortable silence until Dean offered to help do the dishes. All the while, the  _ Nutcracker  _ played behind their conversation, with Cas stopping to point out the names of the pieces-- _ Oh, this is the first Divertissement,  _ or  _ this is called a Tarantella,  _ and Dean enjoyed it all. 

_ \-------------------------------------------- _

So they settled into some weird, hack-jawed version of a routine. It mostly consisted of Dean spending a lot of time with cats on him (and then spending a lot of time taking allergy medicine), teaching Cas new recipes, walking places with Cas, reading, watching 80s rom-coms on Cas’ laptop and handing Cas tissues (and then refusing to admit that he needed tissues himself), and “working” at Bobby’s shop.

Well, Bobby  _ did  _ actually make him work, but it wasn’t like Dean had to try and get a job. Every day, he asked Bobby if he’d heard from any of Dean’s family, and every day the answer was the same: no.

Over the weeks, Dean tried not to get discouraged--after all, he had left and cut himself off from the gang--but he missed his brothers, especially Sammy. Adam was a fair bit younger than him, at thirteen, whereas Sammy was seventeen and Dean was twenty-three.

(Cas was twenty-five, and Dean spent a lot of time suddenly remembering that Cas was older than him and being hit with it like a truck. It wasn’t that Cas acted younger or anything, he just had a lighter spirit. Dean  _ felt  _ old.)

Dean knew that if any of his friends from his gang met Cas, they would think the guy was  _ something else _ , because he really was. Cas was, as far as Dean could tell, fundamentally kind--in whatever free time he had, he was volunteering at the local soup kitchen, he donated books to the public library and the county jail, and he would talk to just about anyone about anything. He showed genuine interest in other people’s interests, too, even going so far as to watch westerns with Dean. 

Which was why, even when it had been nearly two months since his kidnapping (and then subsequent accidental second kidnapping), Dean hadn’t told Cas about the real reason he didn’t talk to, or about, his family. He would just walk with Cas to work (the Pontiac was still out of commission and the weather wasn’t terrible), go help Bobby at the auto shop, and then go back to Cas’ apartment. Sometimes he went grocery shopping, but he wasn’t very good at it--apparently there  _ was  _ a difference between salted and unsalted butter--and when he was alone, the looming threat of the gang and whereabouts of his kidnappers loomed over him.

“You should tell him,” Bobby said one day. “If you vanish, get kidnapped again, which could happen because members of both gangs are everywhere and you know that, he oughta know how to find you.” Bobby gave Dean a significant look before continuing. “The two of you are gettin’ awful close, Dean. I’ve known you your whole life, and you’ve never cottoned onto someone quite like you have to Cas.”

“He’s different,” Dean replied, because he couldn’t think of another, better way to describe Cas. Cas was Dean’s first friend that he had  _ chosen,  _ and he was a good person. A great person.

“Be careful,” Bobby said. “And tell him the truth.”

But Dean didn’t, because he couldn’t bring himself to, not when Cas made them hot spiked cider that night and they watched  _ Tombstone,  _ per Dean’s request, and both fell asleep on the couch underneath one of Cas’ crazy crocheted blankets (apparently a drag queen Gabe knew crocheted them--Dean couldn’t make this shit up) as the credits rolled.

That had been two weeks ago, and Dean still couldn’t get the thought of the weight of Cas’ body on top of him off of his mind. He smelled like honey and lavender shampoo and...warm? Could someone smell warm? Dean learned that Cas didn’t snore, but he did make snuffling noises that were…

(Dean needed to stop thinking of Cas as cute, or adorable, or whatever.)

He was still trying to drill this into his head by the time dinner rolled around--leftover chicken fried rice--but he managed to keep up appearances and normal conversation. Cas’ smile was bright and happy as he left for his night class, and Dean decided to read Jack Keourac’s  _ On the Road _ while Cas was gone. He’d read it once in his younger years, but hadn’t looked at it in ages, and Cas had a copy among his enormous collection of books. Dean was just settling properly into the couch when he heard voices outside the door.

And then the door was kicked in. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, well, well, Winchester,” a taunting voice said, “You really thought you could evade us?”

Dean blinked his eyes open slowly. He was tied to a chair in some sort of warehouse, as far as he could tell, and in front of him, with a wicked grin on his face, was none other than Alastair.

“Wow,” Dean said, trying to channel some of his old gang bravado, “I really must be special, getting a personal audience with you and all.”

“Oh, you’re special alright.” Alastair’s grin was wicked. “A little birdie told me you’d left your father’s gang, and he doesn’t much like loose ends…”

“Wait,” Dean said, his brain reorienting itself, “You didn’t just kidnap me for...information or whatever? You were hired?”

“By none other than John Winchester himself. He wanted us to take care of you, make sure you couldn’t talk. And we would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for your new friend.”

“Cas,” Dean breathed, “Cas. Where is he? Have you hurt him?”

“Easy, tiger,” Alastair was still smiling, and Dean wanted to punch that stupid grin off his face. Unfortunately, he was tied to a chair, which made most activities pretty difficult. Especially socking someone in the jaw.

“Tell me what you’ve done to Cas,” Dean repeated. It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, Castiel? Don’t worry about him.” Alastair made a show of checking his watch. “He’s going to come home from class right about now, to see that you’ve vanished, and he’s going to think that you left without saying goodbye. And then neither he nor anyone else is ever going to see you again.”

Dean didn’t have a response for that.

“In the meantime,” Alastair continued, “I don’t want to kill you  _ just  _ yet, Dean. The death of the eldest Winchester son deserves an  _ audience _ . So why don’t you take another little nap?” He stepped towards Dean, and Dean barely had time to register the fist coming towards his face before everything went black again.

_ \------------------------------------------- _

“Oh man, that might scar,” a voice said. 

“Adam!” Another voice replied, “I told you to wait in the car. It’s not safe.”

“I’m not leaving Dean behind,” the first voice replied stubbornly. 

_ Adam.  _

If Adam was here, that meant-- _ Sammy.  _ Sammy was here, too. 

Dean forced his eyes open painfully. His head throbbed, and it took his eyes a second to focus. There were actually four figures surrounding him--Adam, his scrawny littlest brother, Sammy, the middle Winchester brother, who was already somehow taller than Dean and also sported shoulder-length hair (Dean was in a constant state of threatening to shave it off), Bobby, and... _ Cas _ ?

“How did you guys--” Dean coughed and tried again. “How did you guys find me?”

“Cas gave me a call,” Bobby said, “Mentioned that you weren’t at his apartment. So I decided to call in the cavalry.”

“Alastair--and his men--they could be anywhere,” Dean said. “What time is it?”

“A little after six a.m.,” Cas answered. 

Dean nodded, once, and then remembered the rest of his conversation with Alastair. “Guys, it’s not safe for any of you to be here! Dad--” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

_ His own father wanted him dead.  _

Dean had known that getting out of the gang would be hard, and dangerous, but he didn’t realize  _ how  _ dangerous, and now Bobby, his brothers, and Cas were in danger.

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “If John shows up here...we’re going to have a  _ word. _ ” Dean noticed the gun holstered on Bobby’s belt. 

“So, what’s the grand plan?” Dean asked. “Smuggle me out of here?”

“Not exactly,” another voice said, and everyone turned around to see it (except for Dean who was still, you know, tied to a chair).

It was none other than John Winchester.

“I want to make sure this job gets done,” John said, striding towards them, “No interference. Boys, go outside.”

“No,” Sammy said, looping his arm protectively around Adam, “We’re not leaving Dean, Dad. Let him go.” 

“I'm sorry, Sam. I gotta tie up loose ends.”

“Leave them out of it,” Dean said, “They’re just kids, Dad. If you’re mad at me, don’t hurt them, too.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, boy.” John leaned forwards and struck Dean across the face. It stung, but Dean didn’t flinch.

He was used to this. 

So were Sammy, and Adam, and Bobby. They all knew that John could get violent--but Cas didn’t, which is why Dean only had his mouth half-open in warning by the time Cas kicked John in the shin. 

John turned and shoved Cas out of the way, sending him sprawling to the floor and groaning. Dean stared at Cas in horror and then looked back up at his dad. 

“Leave him alone,” Dean said. “Cas hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s been  _ helping  _ me.”

“See, in my book,” John said, looking back and forth between Dean, still tied to the chair, and Cas’ prone form, “That’s something wrong. You want to leave, you pay the price.”

“Leave him out of it.”

“He seems pretty important to you.” John narrowed his eyes, and Dean had a fleeting memory, one he’d pushed down, of his father striking him after finding him behind the high school gym with another boy--

Dean let his eyes trail to Cas and willed the memory to go away. Cas met his gaze, his blue eyes round and scared, but also determined. Dean felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for Cas, the nicest guy in town, willing to put his own guts on the line when he didn’t even know what kind of trouble Dean was in. 

_ “You should tell him,”  _ Bobby had said.

Bobby had been right. 

Dean willed his dad not to hit Cas, or touch him again, but he knew that, when worse came to worse, John could only be a good father in fits and starts, and that engine had run out of gas a long time ago. 

Just as John made another step towards Cas, there was a flash of movement and a  _ bang _ . Dean flinched as John pitched forward, almost landing on top of him, and then looked up to see Bobby with his gun held out. 

“Get your brothers and Cas and go,” Bobby said. “I’ll take care of everything in here.” Sammy was already at work untying Dean. 

Dean shook off his bonds and bent down to Cas first, pulling him up by his hands. “Are you okay?” Dean asked. Cas nodded, once, and it wasn’t a good enough answer, but it would have to do. 

“We brought the Impala,” Sam said, once they had run outside. “You had the only key, though, so we hotwired it. Sorry.”

Dean slid into the driver’s seat, with Sam as his passenger, and Adam helped Cas into the back. 

“Where to?” Dean asked.

“Let’s go back to Bobby’s,” Sam said. “Least he’s got all those weapons and we’ll be safe.”

Dean looked back at Adam in the mirror. “Don’t even think about touching any of Bobby’s handguns, okay? Rifles only for you, kiddo.”

Adam scowled but didn’t talk back. 

Cas didn’t say anything. 

They piled out of the Impala at Bobby’s house a few minutes later, and Dean made for the door, shouldering it open and going for Bobby’s case of guns by the door. Adam reached for a handgun, and Sammy swatted his hand away. “Listen to Dean,” Sammy said. Adam rolled his eyes. 

“You ever shot a gun?” Dean said, turning to Cas. Cas shook his head mutely. Dean hefted one of Bobby’s plain back handguns and then showed it to Cas. “You’re left-handed, right?” Cas nodded again. Dean held up the gun in his left hand. “I’m right-handed, but I’ll show you with my left hand. So hold it like it...and then support it with your right hand. You gotta hold it really steady, and plant your feet when you fire. There’s gonna be a kickback, and it’s gonna be pretty bad since you’ve never done this before--it’ll hurt like hell.”

“Pleasant,” Cas said drily. 

“So,” Dean continued, putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder and looking him in the eyes, “ _ Don’t  _ fire unless you  _ absolutely  _ have to, okay? Adam, Sammy, and I are trained. And Bobby’ll be here soon.” 

Cas nodded. 

It occurred to Dean, for a moment, that this was probably really overwhelming for Cas. After all, Cas was just a regular guy. He went to work, he went to class, he liked to bake and spent his free time reading on the couch with his cats.

Well, there was nothing  _ just  _ about Cas. But he wasn’t like Dean, that was for sure, and Dean had brought all of this onto Cas. 

Dean lowered his voice. “Hey, you probably won’t have to do anything with this at all, okay? This is just a precaution--Adam, what did I tell you?”

“I  _ know  _ how to shoot a gun, Dean,” Adam said grumpily.

“And I know that I’m the oldest,” Dean replied. “And you’re thirteen. So put that down.”

“Cas gets a handgun!”

“Cas is older, too,” Dean said, although Adam  _ did  _ have a point. Cas looked terrified. Still, he was sticking to his big-brother guns. 

(Pun fully intended.)

Adam and Sammy each took one of Bobby’s front windows to watch out of, and Dean took the front door, putting Cas behind him. 

“Your brothers are very nice,” Cas said.

“They’re twerps, but I love ‘em,” Dean replied, keeping his eyes trained on the Impala in Bobby’s driveway. 

Cas smiled, but didn’t add anything else. He was still holding the handgun like it was going to burn him. 

Bobby’s truck pulled into the driveway about ten minutes later, and Dean let him in before closing the door again. Bobby took his pistol out of its holster and grabbed one of the shotguns. 

“I was followed,” Bobby said, “Alastair, I think, although he’s switched cars since your friend here stole his.” Cas made an apologetic face, and Bobby glanced down and saw the gun he was holding. “Dean Winchester, if you hadn’t just been kidnapped…” Bobby grabbed the gun. “You protect Cas, okay? Don’t make him fire that thing.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, but anything else he was about to say was cut off by another car pulling into the yard--a black sedan. Out of it climbed Alastair, and then, from the passenger’s side, one of his lackeys that Dean knew only by face and not name. They both had guns out, and they fired for the front windows. There was the sound of glass shattering.

“Get down!” Bobby shouted. Adam and Sammy flattened themselves onto the floor, and Dean grabbed Cas by the shoulder and forced him onto the floor. 

“Who’s that?” Cas asked Dean in a fervent whisper.

“Alastair, leader of the rival gang,” Dean replied, “He’s the guy who kidnapped me originally.”

“Right.” Cas swallowed audibly. “I called in sick to work...I guess if I get shot, that’s not a lie.”

“Look at me,” Dean said. “You’re not gonna get shot, okay? I mean,  _ I  _ might.  _ Bobby  _ might. But you won’t.”

“That is,” Cas frowned, “Surprisingly not comforting.” 

“I--” Dean started, but then gunfire cut him off. He watched Bobby roll out of the way of the front door, which was now sporting some new bullet holes, and then get up on his knees and aim the shotgun out of one of the shattered front windows. He squeezed off one, two, three shots, and then everything was quiet.

“Got ‘em,” Bobby said, turning around and slumping down into a seated position, letting his shotgun fall to the floor. “Anybody want to go get some food?”


	4. Chapter 4

They crowded into a booth at the diner--Adam and Sammy on one side, Dean and Cas on the other, Bobby pulling up a chair and sitting at the head. Once the waitress came and took their drink orders, Bobby lowered his voice and said, “You boys okay?”

They all nodded, and then Cas said in a small voice, “What...what exactly do you do?” He looked scared still, and it made something in Dean’s chest ache. Without thinking, he reached over and put his hand on top of Cas’, where it was resting on Cas’ thigh. Cas didn’t react except to wiggle his fingers up through the space in between Dean’s, and Dean curled his hand around Cas’, their fingers now properly intertwined (albeit hidden from view).

“We--well, Sammy and Adam are the only ones still in it--are part of a gang,” Bobby said with a sigh. “Our rival gang kidnapped Dean originally--but apparently it was under orders from John.”

“My dad,” Dean added. 

“Wait, when you told me ‘family business,’ you meant…?” Cas’ free hand came up to form the air quotes. “And your own  _ father  _ wanted to…? I mean, my parents don’t talk to me, but I don’t think they would want me  _ dead. _ ”

“ _ Someone _ ,” Bobby said, “Told Dean that he should tell you what was going on before something like what happened today happened.” He turned his attention to Dean. “You’re lucky Cas here is a quick thinker. He found my business card and called my cell, told me you’d disappeared.”

“What happened to Dad?” Adam asked. Dean really wished he could just reach across the table and ruffle his littlest brother’s hair and make it all better, but it didn’t seem like it was that easy.

“Let’s just say...he won’t be doing something like this to anyone else ever again.” Bobby gave them all a grim smile. 

“That puts Bill Harvelle in charge,” Dean said, “Since he was Dad’s right-hand man, and Sammy’s still a kid.”

“I’m going to be eighteen in a few months!” Sam complained, and Dean grinned at him.

“Still a kid.”

“Don’t get too smug, boy,” Bobby said. “What John did was way outta line, but you were reckless, Dean. You have friends, people in your corner. If Alastair hadn’t waited to wait to kill you, we’d be here planning your funeral, not talking to you.”

Cas tensed up, and Dean squeezed his hand. The waitress brought them their drinks and took their orders (cheeseburgers all around, even though it was still before noon--they’d earned it), and then Adam stared at Cas and asked, “Why’d you help Dean?”

Cas shrugged. “I felt bad for accidentally kidnapping him...and he said there was no one he could call. And--” Cas glanced at Dean, “--he’s nice.”

“You must have met a different version of my brother,” Sammy said, and Dean kicked him under the table, eliciting a yelp.

“Boys,” Bobby said warningly, and if Dean squinted, he could pretend that it was old times again--that Bobby was taking the boys out to lunch to pull them out from under the thumb of their father, if only for a little while.

Dean wasn’t going to miss John. 

_ \------------------------------------------- _

Cas was quiet for the rest of lunch, and only nodded once when Bobby told Dean to stay with him another night, if that was alright with Cas--”Just for protection,” Bobby told him, “John’s gone but there’s no telling who else might be out there.”

Cas took a shower as soon as they got back to their apartment, and Dean carefully edged his way into Cas’ bedroom to look in the mirror above the dresser at his injuries. He’d been in here a few times over the past couple of months--it was cramped, with the bed taking up most of the space even though it was just a full-sized one. 

His face had looked worse, but there was definitely a bruise forming along his jaw, and that slice on his cheek was most likely gonna scar, just like Adam had thought.

Dean heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Cas in a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, staring at him. “Are you okay?” Cas asked.

Dean stepped toward him and echoed his own thoughts. “I’ve been worse. Are you alright? I’m sorry about my dad throwing you around.”

“S’not your fault.” Cas yawned. “I think I’m going to take a nap. I was up all night.”

Dean looked down at his feet. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cas said, “You didn’t intentionally get kidnapped.” And then he shouldered past Dean to get on the bed, and Dean decided to leave. 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Dean said, but Cas was already asleep.

_ \------------------------------------------- _

Cas slept until dinnertime, at which point they had ramen Dean had found in the back of a cabinet and got halfway through rewatching  _ The Matrix  _ before Cas’ head started to loll to the side again. Dean nudged him with an elbow. “You wanna go to bed?” he asked softly, and Cas nodded once, even as his eyelids fluttered closed. Dean decided that Cas deserved to sleep in his own bed, not on the couch, so he eased off of it to a standing position and then carefully picked Cas up, bridal-style.

Dean made it to Cas’ bedroom before Cas’ eyes opened again. He stared at Dean blearily as Dean set him down on the bed and pulled up a blanket over him. Dean thought about saying something, but he wasn’t sure what  _ to  _ say. 

He slept fitfully on the couch, with his gun, given back to him by Bobby, on the coffee table just in case. He had his phone back now, too, which was a relief, although there wasn’t really anyone he could call. Bobby, Adam, and Sammy were the kind of people he didn’t need to talk to all the time to know that they were in his corner. Today had been proof of that. 

And the other person he could talk to was in the other room, asleep. 

Dean rolled halfway off the couch and grabbed his jeans, rummaging through the pockets until he found the piece of paper Cas had written his number on the first day they’d known each other. The paper was worn now, the number slightly faded--

There was a noise in the kitchen.

Dean slowly got off the couch and grabbed his gun from the coffee table, holding it out in front of him as he walked slowly into the living room, only to find himself pointing it at--

Cas.

“Hi,” Cas said. He was standing by the sink with a glass of water, with only the light on the stove’s hood on, his hair  _ everywhere _ . 

Dean set the gun on the kitchen table and walked over to where Cas was standing. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep. It was kind of an overwhelming day.” Cas set his glass of water down.

“You also took a  _ massive  _ nap earlier,” Dean pointed out.

Cas nodded and then continued. “I’m glad you’re safe now.” His eyes fell to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Dean pressed--he knew it wasn’t just that Cas couldn’t sleep. 

“I--” Cas sighed. “You lied to me, Dean. I let you stay in my apartment--I’m  _ letting  _ you stay in my apartment. I trust you, I'm your friend, and you were in danger. You should have told me.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed, unconsciously brought his hand up to cup the side of Cas’ face. “I know I should have. You--and Bobby--are right. But those people--they wanted to kill me, and I didn’t want you to have to worry about that.”

“We’re friends,” Cas replied. “Worrying about you is part of the job description.”

It was true, wasn’t it? He and Cas  _ were _ friends, and Dean was  _ glad  _ about that. He was weirdly happy about getting re-kidnapped by a car thief (although he had a feeling that Cas wouldn’t steal anymore cars) because it meant he got to hang out with this guy and his cats and his practical library of books in his living room and his mismatched hand towels and love for classical music and--

Before Dean’s brain caught up with what the rest of him was up to, he was putting his other hand on Cas’ other cheek, pulling him in, and kissing him. There was a half-a-second period where Cas wasn’t kissing him back, and then he  _ was  _ kissing Dean back, and then  _ holy shit they were making out against Cas’ kitchen counter at two in the morning.  _

Well, maybe  _ making out  _ wasn’t quite the right phrasing. Dean’s hands weren’t exactly having any part of the action--their main function, right now, was to hold Cas as close as possible. Cas was warm and solid and very much alive, and he let out a little sigh as their mouths fit together. 

Eventually, Dean pulled back and pressed his forehead to Cas’. “Sorry,” he said breathlessly, “Should have asked first.”

“No, that was more than okay,” Cas whispered back, and then he was tilting his jaw to kiss Dean again.

_ \------------------------------------------- _

Dean woke up the next morning with a familiar weight on top of him and a shock of dark hair tickling his chin. He looked down and there was Cas, asleep on top of him on the couch. Dean wasn’t one hundred percent sure how they’d gotten in this position--

But they  _ had  _ kissed, and it had been  _ awesome,  _ that much he knew for sure.

Cas woke up a few minutes later, using his elbows to prop himself up on Dean’s chest. Cas’ smile was soft and gummy, and something inside Dean’s chest expanded.

This was  _ good _ , and for once in his godforsaken life, he had something that vaguely resembled freedom. No more Alastair to worry about, no more concern about what his father thought about anything he did. Dean knew Bill Harvelle, and he knew that Bill would leave well enough alone. That he would leave Dean alone. 

“Good morning,” Cas said, his already deep voice more gravelly in the morning. “Sleep okay?”

Dean nodded. “How about you?”

“It got better as the night went on.” Now Cas was full-on grinning.

“Cas, are you...flirting with me?”

“Maybe.” Cas pulled himself into a seated position. “We should go to the store later. All I’ve got for breakfast is cereal.” 

“Yeah,” Dean studied Cas’ profile as he spoke, “We should.” He watched Barney walk into the room, stretch, and settle himself into Cas’ lap. Sophia was probably, as always, buried under something in Cas’ room. 

After breakfast, Dean walked Cas to work, like always, and then walked across the street to Bobby’s auto shop.

Bobby took one searching look at Dean and then said, “You kissed that boy, didn’t you?”

Dean felt himself redden and looked at the car Bobby was working on. “Maybe.”

“Figured that would happen eventually. Your face always gets all moony when you’re talking about him.” Bobby kept on taking off the tires of the car like this conversation wasn’t happening. 

“You’re not...mad?” 

Bobby stopped working on the tires and stared at him. “Dean, I’m not your father. As long as you’re happy, I don’t care who it’s with. Now, be useful or go ask Cas what you’ve been meaning to ask him this whole time.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was already turning to walk out of the shop and back across the street. 

Dean stood in front of the Gas ‘n Sip’s window, just in enough shadow so that Cas couldn’t see him if he looked out. Cas was busy, anyways, chatting up a customer as he bagged her items. He bid her farewell with a wave after handing her the bag, and Dean took the opportunity to walk to the door and hold it open for her before ducking into the Gas ‘n Sip. He grabbed a pack of beef jerky and made his way up to the counter, his heart in his throat, despite the fact that he and Cas had been making out less than twelve hours ago. 

“Hey,” he said, “Can I get beef jerky and a pack of menthols?”

“You don’t smoke,” Cas replied without looking up. “And I’m  _ working,  _ Dean.” 

Dean set the pack of beef jerky on the counter. “You’re right, I don’t need the menthols. I just came here to say hi.” 

Cas looked up at him, smiling. “It’s almost like we didn’t see each other, oh...five minutes ago.” Cas pulled out a pad of paper, like he had when he had given Dean his phone number months ago. He scribbled something on it and then folded it up, taking a minute to do so. “Hold out your hand,” Cas said.

Dean complied, and Cas dropped a neatly folded origami fish into his palm. Dean looked up at Cas, whose eyes were smiling along with his mouth, before asking, “Can I see what’s written in it?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “And then tell me what you think--later. I have real customers.” But he was still smiling. 

When Dean left the gas station, he leaned against one of the pumps and unfolded the fish. Written in Cas’ messy, cramped handwriting were the words  _ do you want to go on a date? _

(When Cas came out of the Gas ‘n Sip at the end of his shift, Dean seized him by the collar and kissed him firmly on the mouth. He figured that counted as a good enough  _ yes. _ ) 


End file.
